The Ranleigh Question, page 14
part #2 of Lady Althea Mystery Series
“You would have made a splendid guardian, dearest Jane,” Althea said. “My virtue would have been entirely safe in your hands.”
“A most imprudent young man,” Jane replied.
“But do you think he is an assassin?”
“He was the one who pushed you?”
“I don’t know. Norwich warned me against him, so perhaps. But I fail to see what motive he could have for doing so. He would have nothing to gain from my demise, and I don’t think I have done anything to anger him. Quite the contrary. He seems to take my moralizing in good humor.”
“Norwich may know things that you or I would not be privy to, but I suspect his warning might have more to do with jealousy that any other motive.”
“Perhaps.” Althea sighed.
Jane gave her a measuring look. “I have held my tongue because I did not wish to press you, and I’m sure this is not the most opportune moment, but what has happened to the Duke of Norwich? Are you still betrothed to him?”
“Dear Jane, it pains me to say that I do not know. I have not broken our engagement, but as to why he left so suddenly and where he has gone, I have no more than that he told Sir Neville that urgent business at Austell Abbey called him away. He has not written to me and I, out of pride, cannot bring myself to write to him to ask for an explanation. And while I know that as a man of honor he would not cast me aside, I have the greatest apprehension that he means through his continued silence to indicate to me that he no longer cares for me.”
“And do you care for him?”
Althea felt tears welling up and blinked them away, resolved not to give in to the stabbing pain in her chest. “It is strange, is it not, that one can desire something so completely when one is definitively deprived of it? I find that I love him, Jane, just at the moment when I am very sure that he has ceased to love me.”
Jane rose and took Althea’s hands in hers. “My dearest sister, no man who has met you could help to fall in love with you. Trust me when I say that I think it will all turn out right in the end. And if it doesn’t, Norwich will only have himself to blame for letting the most wonderful woman in England slip through his fingers.”
“Oh Jane, I do love you.” Althea began to cry in earnest then, letting herself feel, for the first time in a long time, completely and totally lost.
Jane pulled her up and hugged her tight, allowing Althea to sob onto her shoulder for some time. They were discovered thus by Miss Dorkins, who came flying through the door and stopped short.
“Oh, my dear Lady Trent, I am so sorry! I was down in the kitchen speaking to Mrs. Stedman about her recipe for beef jelly, which I have always found to be quite restorative, when I heard the news. How are you feeling?” After the briefest of pauses, “I can tell you are as green an apple. It’s no wonder you need dear Miss Trent to support you to stand.”
Althea quickly brushed away the last of the tears with a flick of her fingers. “I had quite a nasty fall and do not feel at all myself, Miss Dorkins. Perhaps you would be so kind as to help me undress and into my nightdress. I think some rest would do me a world of good. Miss Trent says I am not to come down to supper either, so I would appreciate if you could arrange to have a tray of something sent up later?”
“Of course you must not go down to supper, you can barely stand! Miss Trent, do not worry, you can leave everything to me.”
Half an hour later, Althea was tucked up into bed with a hot brick at her feet and a cup of tea in her hand. Jane had been sent to her room to rest up for supper. Miss Dorkins was fussing about the wardrobe, putting everything to rights and talking to herself in a low voice the way she always did. She had attempted to press some laudanum on Althea, but as her father’s daughter, Althea knew that that an opiate solution was the last thing a patient who had banged her head should imbibe.
As she sipped her tea, Althea imagined her future back at Dettamoor Park. How lonely it would be without Jane to keep her company. And Miss Dorkins was surely going to want to stay to attend Jane at Ranleigh, as she had been attending Jane since before Jane’s first season. There might be several others, as well, who would follow Jane to her new home. It would be a comfort for Jane to have those about her who knew her ways and habits.
Althea bit back the urge to cry again. Really, she had become so maudlin all of a sudden. It must be the fall. Her father had seen several cases where head injuries had resulted in significant changes to personality. And what if Norwich never came back? She would have to write to him and call the engagement off. It was the only way to release him. She had half a mind to do it immediately, if only to end this torment of uncertainty, but decided to wait a little more to see if some rational explanation for his strange behavior presented itself.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Althea wasn’t sure when she slipped off to sleep, but the next thing she knew, the room was dark and Miss Dorkins was no longer to be seen at the wardrobe. Althea thought she had been dreaming. A strange dream about frogs and rushes. One frog turned into a prince when she kissed it. The frog kiss tasted of salty earth, and when the prince leaned down to kiss her as a prince, it was much the same. And then Althea had been swimming in the pond, but the reeds closed in around her and pulled her down to the bottom to where her feet touched the mud.
She sat up with a start. It was the boots. The thief in the night had taken those strange boots! Miss Dorkins must have tucked them into the wardrobe when she couldn’t locate their owner and forgotten about them. That was the only item that did not belong to Althea that could possibly have been there. There had to be a connection between the boots and the push down the hill. It was too much of a coincidence to be unconnected.
Althea thought to pull the bell, but refrained. She wasn’t sure of the hour of night, and besides, she would just worry Miss Dorkins to no purpose if she had already retired. Althea slid out from under her covers and lit a candle. With any luck, the house would be quiet enough to search.
She observed rather ruefully that any search of Ranleigh House might have been more agreeable had her fall not rendered every movement an agony of pain. It appeared that every muscle and every bone had been bruised by the tumble, and they all cried out in unison as she fastened her wrapper and grabbed the candle. She gritted her teeth. Now was not a time for quibbles.
Once out in the hall, she realized that it wasn’t as late as she had originally thought. She heard voices when she reached the stairs, and assumed that the supper party must still be in full swing. A supper would provide her plenty of time to search the bedrooms along the hall. Of course, that still left the staterooms and several other rooms in the other wing.
The boots were clearly women’s boots, and Althea knew from passing Lord and Lady Batterslea in the hallway that they were situated in the rooms beyond Jane’s. Althea had a hard time picturing Lady Batterslea as a murderess, but her silly demeanor could simply be a clever act. The door next to Jane’s produced a neat modern room with a large damask-draped bed, a writing desk, basin stand and an armoire made of figured oak that looked to have been in the Tabard family for some time.
A quick review of the papers under the blotter of the desk revealed tradesmen’s bills for a frilled bonnet and an ivory fan covered in silk. The sums were quite large and Althea suspected, given their location, that these bills had not yet been presented to Lord Batterslea. Sir Arthur had had the fortune and the good humor to pay whatever frivolous thing Althea desired, but Althea knew that many women did not have such a husband or such natural restraint. As she returned the bills to their original location, she noticed a slip of paper folded over twice. She pulled it out and unfolded it. Across one side was written in an unfamiliar hand:
Meet me in the roses after dinner
C
Althea refolded it precisely and placed it just as she had found it. The implication was obvious. Lady Batterslea was carrying on a dalliance with someone in the house and the initial would indicate that the former Mr. Cruikshank was the other party. He was playing with fire there. Auribus teneo lupum.
Althea quickly reviewed the clothes in the armoire. The boots were nowhere to be found, even in the deep recesses of the piece. This wasn’t necessarily surprising, but it did mean that she would now be forced to go to the other wing of the house where the rooms of the Pickneys and the Gregsons were located. Given her general level of pain, this might be no easy task. Althea took a deep breath and marshaled her courage.
Althea’s modest background as the daughter of a working physician had given her a somewhat unusual perspective on the relationship between masters and servants in the upper echelon of English society. Unlike most of the people who inhabited that sphere, Althea understood that servants knew more about the workings of a house than anyone else and could be relied upon to act as hidden eyes and ears.
Therefore, when she passed a maid, whom she had been informed by Miss Dorkins was named Betsey, as she went along towards the other wing, she did not automatically pass by without comment. One couldn’t assume that the maid wouldn’t know or care about strange behavior in her supposed betters. Instead, Althea stopped and said, “Do you know the time? I had sought to rest but find I cannot sleep and perceive that the hour is not as late as I thought.”
“It is just now ten o’clock, milady. Should I find Miss Dorkins? I believe she was last in the kitchen asking for a tray to be sent up for your supper. Begging your pardon, but you do not appear to be well enough to leave your room, Lady Trent.”
“I am feeling much better, thank you, Betsey, so there is no need to worry Miss Dorkins. I shall return to my room directly. I just wished to know the hour. Don’t let me keep you from your work.”
The maid curtsied and moved past her. Althea waited until she was out of sight and then hurried to perform her search before Miss Dorkins arrived with a tray and found her gone. The older wing of Ranleigh House had been refurbished but retained much of the original flavor of the building. Ranleigh had been destroyed by fire soon after the first James of England had ascended the throne, and the original wooden structure had been rebuilt with sturdy stone masonry. The house had undergone further transformation under Sir Neville’s benevolent ministrations with the expansion of the new wing, which had doubled the living quarters.
Thus, as Althea traversed the passage, she noticed the subtle shift from Grecian elegance to Jacobean solidity. She made her way quickly, but had to duck into a room with an open door once when she heard a servant coming the other direction. She reached the part of the house where the rooms of the Pickneys and Gregsons were located and only waited to determine who was in which room, when she heard a noise behind her. It sounded like footsteps.
She blew out her candle and flattened herself against the wall, but was clearly too slow because a voice called out to her, “Lady Trent?”
“Lord Tunwell,” she murmured, frantically seeking a logical explanation for why she was on the other side of the house. And then she had a moment of inspiration. She put her hand to her head. “Oh dear, where am I?”
“Lady Trent, you are not well, let me help you to your room.”
She turned as if just now seeing him. “My lord, I feel so faint.” And with that she collapsed dramatically to the floor with feigned insensibility.
“Damn,” she heard him say under his breath. And then she felt his arms come under her and her feet leave the ground. She willed her mind not to struggle and remain limp in his arms even when he held her too close. She had once been thus carried by the Duke of Norwich and the difference between the present situation and the now dear memory was painful to contemplate.
Cruikshank started forward, walking quickly. Althea heard him say, “I say, you there, come help me.”
Another man responded, “Of course, milord. Shall I take her from you?”
“No man, just hold your candle in front of me. She is not well and has become confused.”
They continued on until they must have reached her chamber. Althea heard the door creak open and then the cold softness of her counterpane. She remained limp and unmoving while Cruikshank sent the servant away. She resolved to end the charade if Cruikshank attempted anything untoward.
Suddenly, another door opened and Althea heard Miss Dorkin’s strident tones. “Oh my lord, what has happened? Why are you here in Lady Trent’s chamber?”
Cruikshank sputtered in the face of Miss Dorkin’s righteous indignation. “I mean no harm, I assure you! I found Lady Trent wandering on the other side of the house. I have been feeling unwell since this afternoon and left the supper early to go to my rooms. She was out in the hall and then collapsed into insensibility, as you see.”
“Dear Lady Trent! How dreadful!” Althea felt her hand jerked upwards and chafed between Miss Dorkin’s own. “I won’t trouble you any further, Lord Tunwell. Leave everything to me.”
When the door closed behind him, Althea opened her eyes. “Thank you, dear Miss Dorkins. I am feeling better already.”
“Oh Lady Trent, you gave me such a scare! What were you doing out of your bed?”
“I sought some air, but was found out by Lord Tunwell. I thought a fainting fit might disabuse him of any improper motives engendered by encountering me in my wrapper out in the hall. Did you perhaps secure a tray for my supper? I will admit that I am feeling quite peckish after so much excitement.”
Miss Dorkins gave her a wag of her finger. “I am sure I don’t know what to do with you. I was so worried when I returned to the room and found you gone. I was just about to raise a search party when Lord Tunwell appeared.”
Althea smiled. “I am a trial to you all, I know. And supper?”
Miss Dorkins chuckled. “Never fear, it will be up directly. But you really must rest now. Back under the counterpane, there you go.” She tucked Althea in and fluffed her pillow.
“Thank you, Miss Dorkins. I promise I shall stay in bed as you direct from now on.”
The next morning, Althea thought it prudent to stay in bed and plead infirmity. This did not fool Jane, however, who came into her room after breakfast.
“You must stop this strange behavior before rumors of madness are spread about you.”
“I hit my head, Jane. Any strangeness of behavior must be attributable to that, don’t you think?”
Jane looked at her skeptically. “And just what did you hope to learn in the other wing of the house?”
“I was in search of a pair of boots, if you must know. It suddenly occurred to me last night that the only thing that could have been stolen from my wardrobe was something that wasn’t mine, namely the boots that Miss Dorkins found.”
“Why would someone come and take them back if they did not have the wherewithal to seek them out originally?”
“I do not know, but I feel that that answer will be forthcoming if I can locate who took them from my room.”
“And did you find them?”
“No, but I was only able to review Lady Batterslea’s room.”
Jane sighed. “You must have more care. I know that it was entirely innocent, but having Lord Tunwell carrying you the length of the house is not going to assist your reputation in society.”
“So that is already about, is it? I couldn’t actually stop him, you know, when I was pretending to have fainted. It would look even more odd.”
“I understand, but you would do well to stay in your room today. It will make your behavior seem more of a product of injury.”
“Have no fear, dear Jane. I will stay here a week if it makes you feel better. In any case, I am in more pain today than I was before – my father always warned that the second day after injury is worse than the first.”
“I’m sorry, I should have asked how you were feeling, I suppose.”
Althea laughed. “No, no. You were right to scold me first. What shall I do when you are married away from me?”
Jane sat down on the bed. “I’m sure you will suffer mightily from the lack of my guidance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Althea stayed in her room for most of the week. It was not pain that kept her confined, but rather, once she began to draft a monograph, she had trouble focusing on anything else. Ex nihilo nihil fit. She had all of her soil samples lined up in a row and meticulously went through them. In all her years of assisting Sir Arthur with the management of the farm, she had never come across a systematic classification of soil, apart from the usual epithets of a soil being rich or sandy or full of clay. One probably existed, but as her purpose was very different, she decided to start afresh and determined to classify her packets by color, mineral content and vegetation. This produced several distinct categories, and she was able by this method to stratify her results in such a way that made certain conclusions grossly obvious.
Thus, by the end of the week, she had her manuscript well enough in hand to write to Mr. Read with a synopsis of her findings and to pen a missive to Lord Aldridge informing him that a new manuscript from the files of the late Sir Arthur would be forthcoming.
Her first trip down to breakfast was not met with any fanfare as she was the only person in the breakfast room. Her early morning habits were not aligned with any other member of the party and so, after breakfast, she took a refreshing turn in the rose garden. The dew sparkled like diamonds on the delicate rose petals. She stroked the downy surface of a large cabbage rose and felt the water drip from her finger. There was no more perfect flower than the rose, she decided. No flower so perfectly combined innocent beauty with decadent fragrance.
It was no wonder that the rose was so universally entwined with the concept of earthly love. Unfortunately, this observation led to thoughts of when she had last been in the rose garden with the duke. She bit her lip so as to stop the flow of tears that bubbled up and threatened to streak down her cheek. She probably would have cried in earnest had Mr. Smithson not joined her.
